


Second to None

by SatelliteFool



Category: Dreaming of Sunshine - Silver Queen, Naruto, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: After III but before IV, Gen, Inquisitor!Kako, Reincarnation, Shikako reborn into a different series, Transplanted from the Recursive Forum, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 14:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16306565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatelliteFool/pseuds/SatelliteFool
Summary: Her name is forgotten. Expunged. All she has now is a Number. One among many , corralled into a room she's never seen, but which is oh so familiar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place during between Revenge of the Sith and A New Hope, but mainly pulls from the Rebels and Clone Wars story lines regarding the kidnapping and weaponization of force sensitive children. Most members we've seen so far have been fallen Jedi, but the distinct lack of some characters lets me fill in the blanks in what I hope is an interesting manner.
> 
> Anyway, without further preamble:

-

-

-

She's young when they take her.

Just before her third birthday. Just old enough to remember her parents' names. Their faces.

_Their bodies, littering the floor of their tiny apartment on Coruscant._

Her name is forgotten. _Expunged_. She is given a number instead. 18.  One of many children, corralled into a room she's never seen, but which is _oh so familiar._

Of course, the Chūnin Exams weren't quite as fatal.

-

-

-

Years pass.

As do the lessons.

The propaganda – _history_ – amuses her. It's not as good as Konoha's. There are enough dissenting voices out there to require an 'explanation' as to who they are and why they don't matter. Not as effective as a single, state authored historical narrative, but then, Konoha didn't exist within an information age, so perhaps she's being a little harsh.

The rhythm of military indoctrination is one she's familiar with.

For a time, she follows it, content with the knowledge that she will eventually escape.

Until–

-

-

-

–a human girl introduces herself as 'Lily' instead of 'Number 2'.

She is taken her outside and executed.

It's the first time they're allowed outside. _So they can watch_.

Number 18 doesn't cry until she reaches her cot. It'll be the last time she cries in quite a while, so she allows herself the luxury.

Then, she begins working on a plan.

After all, she's going to need one if she wants to bring down an Empire.

-

-

-

Lily isn't the last to die. Dragged out into the open air with a blaster to their head. Some simply fall too far behind and are repurposed as _motivation_ for the rest.

Eventually, the executions begin to peter out. More and more of them are relocated to the Imperial Academy for more conventional training.

Number 18 marks it; the point where they became _too_ useful and _too_ expensive an investment to simply waste. Especially when they might be useful elsewhere.

-

-

-

Soon, she one of two.

Number 5 is a human boy with a scar running vertically along his neck. His enthusiasm marks him apart from the others, even _her_. A perfect example of the kind of weapon they'd want.

Sometimes though, she thinks she sees something beneath that. A kind of calculation in his sycophancy.

Or, perhaps she's projecting. Maybe he really is _that_ eager to serve the people who killed his parents.

She never finds out.

-

-

-

"Too soon," The Grand Inquisitor – _a Pau'an with blood red tattoos adorning his face –_ concedes as they drag a child's corpse away for disposal. "The program is still young. We'll add another year of training and try again."

-

-

-

Another batch of children filter into her training sessions and 18's heart sinks.

She hadn't really thought the program would end with her, but until then…

_well…_

it'd been nice to think about.

_Hope without commitment._

Some ask her questions.

"What happened to the kids before us?"

"How come you're still here?"

"Are you allowed to help me or is that against the–"

And so forth.

She speaks in hushed whispers and grave tones. She can't save them. _Not_ _yet_.

But she can skew the odds.

-

-

-

They're divided into three groups.

The first is dead within the month. Not smart enough, not strong enough. Wouldn't listen. 18 did what she could, but they're watching her closely now and death is the least of the horrors they might visit upon her for displaying _any_ sort of kindness.

The second group is the majority. The ones that fail out, but not before enough time and money is spent for killing them to be a grievous waste of resources. They're sent to the Imperial Academy to be recycled into something the Empire will find useful. Some listen to Number 18's hushed words of advice and fail out at just the right time. _The smart ones_ , she thinks.

Two join Number 18 in the third group this time. Numbers 22 and 19; A Twi'lek girl and a Mandalorian boy.

They watch 18 as she once watched 5, escorted into the Chamber of Trials.

-

-

-

 **"This One."** Vader says, from some dark corner of the room. It's should be a question, but lacks the correct infection, as if the statement were its own answer.

_He feels cold. Like a blizzard in armour._

"Yes" the Grand Inquisitor replies, more out of formality than a real need to answer.

She's tossed a small vibroblade, which she catches with barely a thought – _Empire drills were a decent enough refresher_. It's worn and chipped from overuse and, for a moment, Number 18 wanders if this isn't the blade they'd given the First Brother, Number 5. Then, just as quickly, she dismisses the notion. This, _of all places_ , is not one for sentiment.

The Grand Inquisitor's lightsaber ignites. "Defend yourself, _Second Sister._ "

Twin trains of thought run through her mind: The first, is that it's strange to promote someone and _then_ test them. Why waste the slot? Is it a show of confidence in her? No, that can't be right – _a question for later_.

The second, is that throwing her against a lightsaber with an oversized switchblade might not be entirely fair. Perhaps she should file a complaint with HR.

Or, she should dodge the incoming strike.

 _Decisions decisions_.

The vibroblade dances across her hand as she weaves in between swipes and thrusts. Tacitly, she tries for a parry – _glancing, the kind that would miss her hand if it cut through the blade_.

The vibroblade ricochets backwards, but most definitely _doesn't break_.

 _Good to know_ , she thinks, weaving backwards before **her world** **turns to ice.**

 **_[_ ** _Red and malevolent and angry and evil – you would commit suicide to escape – so thick and potent in the air it feels physical. Like cement blocks tied around your feet **]** _

**He towers over her. Unmoving. Unspeaking. _Hatred, burning cold_**.

 _ ~~HerShikakoNumber18~~ SecondSister _heaves in a breath, attempting to shake the ice from her soul and failing. She'd understood that the force was different from chakra, but maybe it wasn't all _that_ different because that had been _killing intent_ by any other name.

She recovers, darting perpendicular to her opponent and **The S** **pectator** , buying herself some distance.

At a cost.

The Grand Inquisitor's saber draws a line across her cheek. A tally against even that brief distraction. An admonishment; petty and stupid and all this hostility and bald faced sadism in the air is starting to _piss her off so if they want to play that game **then by all fucking means**._

The cold loses its bite, becoming almost… refreshing as she lets it calm her. Centre her. **Sharpen her**. Outwardly, she does not react. Gives no impression she'd even noticed the wound.

 **_[_ ** _I could kill you. If I needed to. And it wouldn't be because I enjoyed it or because I wanted to, it would simply be because you were in my way. **]**_

The Grand Inquisitor's lips lose their casual upward curve as he attacks once more.

_You._

The first attack is a feint, so she ignores it. Allowing the blade to pass her by without incident.

_Are._

His second move is faster, but flawed. If she had to guess, she'd say it was part of a form designed to play upon the feint. If she'd reacted to it, she'd have been cut in two.

_In._

Instead, it glances off the edge of her vibroblade and, once again, the blade ricochets backwards, her arm caught in the reversal of momentum.

_My._

The third swing is an overextension. Even if he's holding back – _and she's sure he was _– She's done too well and now the Grand Inquisitor is overcompensating. She's called his feint and now that he's apparently suckered her into a parry, he's gone straight for the final blow.

**_Way._ **

Bracing her leg against the ground, The Second Sister launches herself inside the third swing and, with a flick of the wrist, the knife switches hands. Too late, does the Grand Inquisitor realise his mistake as she draws the knife across his throat.

Except… she does not.

She is frozen. A trickle of blood rolling across her blade as it holds, just at the edge flesh.

The Grand Inquisitor stares at her, eyes flared, paralyzed in place. It's the first time she's seen him afraid.

She _likes it_.

 **"Enough,"** Vader intones and, with an almost casual gesture, the knife snaps from her hand, embedding itself within a nearby wall. **"She will suffice**. **"**

The Grand Inquisitor drops, his strings finally cut, into a bow so low it's almost to the point of grovelling.

"Yes. Lord Vader."

 **"Then our business here is finished."** He moves to leave the room before pausing at the exit. **"And do take care of your student, _Lord Inquisitor_. Or I shall have _her_ take care of _you_."**

The doors slides shut behind him and the Grand Inquisitor rises, regaining some measure of composure as he thumbs his neck, wiping away a small trail of blood.

He looks to her and his eyes narrow. Considering.

"We shall begin immediately."

The Second Sister straightens.

"Understood."

-

-

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this is a head canon or not, but every force sensitive character sans Luke and (maybe) Kenobi that's interacted with Vader has been borderline traumatised by his particular interaction with the force. Asoka, Ezra and Kannan especially spring to mind. In light of this, I figured that force sensitives without proper training (Meaning all of the Numbers) would be rendered borderline catatonic in response. Shikako has just enough crossover experience to cope, but even she's affected the first time round, while Numbers 22 and 19 would be left just shy of catatonic. I hope that's canon compliant and if you're a lore expert who thinks otherwise then let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

-

-

-

Number 22 collapses to her knees, shaking like a leaf.

The **Man in Black** had just… he'd just _walked past_ … hadn't even looked at them and… everything was… how could…

_She feels like she's falling. Falling and falling and falling and–_

"Get up."

The world stops rushing out from underneath her for _just_ long enough to see the Grand Inquisitor – _Master, they had to call him Master_ – looming over her.

19 makes for his feet, stumbling in the attempt. His breath is ragged – _so is hers, they'd barely moved and –_ as he tries for some kind of apology, or explanation as to why they're on the floor. Truthfully, 22 doubts it'll do any good.

She doesn't miss the fact that 18 is flanking him.

She'd passed _._

22 probably knew Number 18 about as well as anyone else. Anyone smart enough to listen to her anyway. The last Number in 'Batch 1' had told them exactly what would happen if they failed. _And_ what would happen if they _succeeded._

_-_

_-_

_-_

_[18 glances towards a trooper as he marches out of earshot, nodding to herself before returning to the impromptu audience._

_"Trial by Combat. If you win, you become an Inquisitor." The corner of her lip twitches downwards for a moment before her usual blank expression reasserts itself._

_22 wanders if anyone else notices that. Those little treasons she commits. Inexplicably, she hopes she is the only one._

_"If you lose… well, they still make you an Inquisitor. Posthumously"_

_A few hands trail into the air and 22 has to hide a smile. 18 hates it when they do that._

_"Posthumous means dead."_

_The hands fall._ ]

-

-

-

22 had tested second, just behind 19. In a year, she'd be expected to undertake the same trial 18 had.

Would she look like _that_ if she passed?

18's hands are clasped behind her back, rigid and unmoving. Her eyes, fixed forward, staring at nothing in particular. The very image of military discipline.

22 manages to prop herself against a wall by the time Master Inquisitor begins to speak.

"As time progresses, my duties will draw me away from this facility with increasing frequency. The Second Sister-" he gestures to Number 18. Or, well… _not_ number 18. _Anymore_. "-will be charged with relaying some of my _less complicated_ teachings." The words _bite_ as he speaks them. "As an Inquisitor, you will obey her without question. Is that understood?"

"Yes Master." They chorus.

Their new master's eyes glide over them as an almost sedate smile forms upon her lips. There's fresh scar running across her face. The kind that should mar her for life. Instead, it... _adorns_ her cheekbone like… like a beauty spot. Or maybe a tattoo.

Like she _owns_ it.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll manage. _"_

_-_

_-_

_-_


	3. Chapter 3

-

-

-

Her weapon ignites. Extinguishes. Then, ignites again. This time with _twin blades._

_Lightsaber._

It takes a few seconds of fumbling before she finds the button that makes it _spin._

**_Lightsaber._ **

The coolest weapon in the universe is made of light and goes zshooshm. _Can confirm. Science checks out._

_-_

_-_

_-_

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it occurs to me that no police state in its right mind should ever hand Shikako a teaching position.
> 
> Here's why

-

-

-

When in doubt, _plagiarise._

"But there's only one bell…" 22 trails off, suspicion edging its way into her voice.

"Which means?" She presses, watching as comprehension dawns.

19 begins to carefully angle himself away from 22 _– Not a great sign, but expected._

"Only one of us can pass."

Her students – _and they are hers now. She's not giving them back_ – only have moments to grasp this before bō staffs are thrown their way.

For good measure, she begins twirling one of her own. Partially to get a sense for the weapon's weight and balance – _her lightsaber is similarly shaped, but that's where the resemblance ends_.

Partially, she just enjoys showing off in front of them.

-

-

-

From there, things become… something of an uphill battle. They aren't Sith, _exactly_. But the tenants have been beaten into them all the same.

Neither of them get the bell.

-

-

-

"Now then, who can tell me where the both of you went wrong?" She keeps her tone light, with just a hint of steel.

They are afraid. Of her. And, what she'll do to them now that they've 'failed' their test.

She doesn't like it – _hates it, in fact –_ but fear has been their teacher for as long as they can remember. It will take time before they can learn any other way.

19 and 22 glance each other from the corners of their eye, but neither speaks.

Of course, _too much_ _fear_ demonstrates exactly why it's such an unreliable teaching method in the first place.

"Alright then." The Second Sister lets out a sigh, allowing some of the tension to bleed from her posture. "How about the test itself? What was its purpose?"

This, at least, elicits a reaction.

19 perks up. Eager to redeem himself in at least some small way.

"To see which of us was better."

It isn't the answer she'd wanted, even if It is the one she'd been expecting.

" _That_ could have been achieved with individual sparring sessions" She says, with just the right tone of _disappointment_. "In fact, your attempts to sabotage one another renders that data _worthless._ " She narrows her eyes slightly, this time in real annoyance. "If that _were_ its purpose, anyway." She turns. "22, can you help him out?"

_Hint HINT_

The Twi'lek visibly fights down the urge to tug at one of her headtails – _a nervous tick_ – as she edges out. "To… get the bell from you?"

Now it's the Second Sister who's fighting down a tell. Or, at least, a facepalm. She diverts the movement into a twirl of the wrist.

"And…"

Finally – _finally_ – something _sparks_ in her eyes.

"We weren't _supposed_ to get the bell." The words spill from her mouth. " _You_ could've beaten _either_ of us, even if we _weren't_ competing against each other – which means we _never had a chance_ against you on our own. Except there was only one bell which means there was no way we could work together and both pass–"

_The penny drops._

22 _whirls_.

"You set us up!"

The Second Sister has to fight down a smile as she takes back every bad thing she'd ever thought about Kakashi-sensei because this is _fun_.

" _Did I?_ How so?" She tries to keep the amusement from her tone. Judging by their faces, she'd failed.

If 22 had been thinking about it, she might've stopped there. Perhaps even backpedalled a little to compensate for the show of disrespect. But she can't seem to stop herself.

"You _wanted_ us to work together, but then you went and made it so that only _one_ of us could pass if we did… so… so that wasn't the actual test." Her mouth can barely keep up with her mind as it surges onwards. "If we'd worked together and gotten the bells from you… even if one of us didn't… If was like… a _test_. A test _within_ a test!

Her smile is genuine this time. They'd gotten the gist of it. Now however, was the tricky part. She needs to turn this into something they can relate to.

Something a _Sith_ can relate to.

"In the future, you'll find that there are times when you need to work together. Times when multiple Inquisitors will be tasked with the same objective. During these times, you might be tempted to compete with one another – to _prove yourself_ the better agent. Sometimes, you might even be _encouraged_ to do so."

They stare at her with rapt attention. She hasn't told them anything they don't already know. Even now, they're pitted against one another. Now though, they're seeing it from a different perspective.

"It's a trap." She lies. " An unspoken promise of favour should you deviate from the mission in favour personal gain." It's such a delicate balance she's maintaining. If she deviates too far from their teachings, they might not believe her – might even expose her by _asking someone else_. If she doesn't deviate _far enough_ though…

She'd won't make weapons for them. 

"When you began this test, I offered no information as to what would happen if you failed. Nor did I offer a reward for success. And yet, you never even _considered_ working together and _that_ was you biggest mistake."

"What _would_ have happened if one of us had gotten the bell?" 19 pipes up, emboldened by 22's lack of punishment. He hasn't spoken much, but he's beginning to understand. She _wants_ them to question her.

She wants them to question _everything._ But that can come later.

_Baby steps._

The Second Sister smiles, reaching for the bell strapped to her waist. They'd never even gotten close.

"Let's turn that around. _19_ , what would you have done if you _had_ gotten the bell?" She snaps it from its strap and tosses it to the Mandalorian.

He stares with a kind of reverent awe that nobody should ever reserve for a bell.

22 stares at _him_ , suddenly looking very uncomfortable. As if the test hadn't ended at all.

In a way, she's right.

19's brow furrows as he considers the question. "Did we work together?"

The Second Sister hums, as if she's actually considering his question.

"Let's say that you did." Her tone is light. Almost conversational. She wants to spell it out for him. To just sit and _explain_. But she _can't_.

It needs to be _his_ idea.

He stares at the bell for a long time before finally, _hesitantly_ , handing it to 22.

22 palms the bell for a moment before returning it in kind. She isn't sure what's happening, but on some level, _she understands_. They can succeed together, or fail alone.

"Now what?"

_Mixed up the order a little. But hey, a win's a win._

"Well then," the Second Sister beams at them. "I guess I have to say – you both pass!"

They gawk in unison – _so cute._

"Wait, _what?_ "

"You put the squad and the mission ahead of yourselves, so you passed!" She's having entirely too much fun with this. But really, they'd brought it on themselves. Acting all mature and dignified like that.

"But–" 22 catches herself before she can look a gift horse in the mouth. "…what now?"

" _Now_ , you're going to take the bell from me. _Together_ this time."

For the first time the Second Sister can remember, 19 smiles. It's a nice smile, she decides. She'll have to make sure she sees it more often.

_Just… probably not today._

"We already have–"

The bell snaps from his hand, as if yanked by some invisible piece of string, landing in hers.

"Sorry, did I interrupt?" 18 rolls the bell across her knuckles. "My mistake. _You were saying?_."

Their expressions?

_Priceless._

_-_

_-_

_-_

This time, she lets them have the bell.

-

-

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because what's the point of overthrowing a corrupt interstellar empire by subverting it subordinates out from under it if you can't have a little fun?


	5. Chapter 5

-

-

-

The Grand Inquisitor's lessons are nothing, if not _through_. He will not be taken unawares. Not–

"Again."

The girl ignites her lightsaber – _single blade; an unusual preference where none should exist at all_ – and falls into a ready stance. It looks like something he taught her, but that's as far as it goes. It's camouflage; a _mask_ for something more personal that _he_ can't seem to place.

They clash, moving from one parry to the next in a continuous stream of blows. They flow, right up until–

–The pattern breaks.

The Grand Inquisitor reaches out to the Force, yanking her foot to the side.

Her stance breaks, leaving her wide open to–

_No._

–She's not open at all. The Inquisitor darts backwards, away from the false gap in her defences.

He avoids her saber by _inches_.

He hadn't taught her _that_ either.

-

-

-


	6. Chapter 6

-

-

-

A security feed flickers to life. Three figures; Two are locked in combat, while the third watches impassively. A routine session.

Today is hand-to-hand.

The Second Sister's expression flickers for a moment as the Mandalorian boy, 19, drops his stance and brute forces his way through the fight. The Grand Inquisitor cannot help but agree with her. _The boy is being foolish._

22, the Twi'lek girl, scrambles to her feet, squaring off for the next round.

The Second Sister Steps in.

"Hold."

And the thing is, _they do_. Without hesitation.

He'd known she was lethal. But this? This could be something else. Something truly _dangerous._

The Second Sister mutters something under her breath, quietly enough that even the microphones do not hear, before walking into the centre of the ring.

"Three rules for wining a fight against a much larger person."

A strange lesson to teach force users – _where size so rarely indicates strength_ – but the Inquisitor does not dismiss it out of hand.

These days, he cannot dismiss anything she does. He simply cannot afford it.

The boy blinks, confused. The lesson must seem strange to him. After all, he is not _that_ much larger than his opponent. An early bloomer, perhaps, but _years_ away from the size he'll reach by adulthood. He does not see what she sees; what _Inquisitors_ see.

"One; You have about sixty seconds to put them down. If you don't do it in sixty, _draw or run_.

"Two; don't let them get a _single_ hit in. _As you've already noticed,_ " She shoots 22 a glance.

The Twi'lek turns away, hiding what will soon be quite the shiner. She is… ashamed.

"All the training in the galaxy won't protect you from sheer poundage. That's just physics." She glides across the room. Her footsteps, _silent_.

She stops just short of 19 before wrapping her knuckles against his torso.

"Three. Every hit has to count. If you're unarmed, then blows to the chest and shoulder are worthless to you."

19 puffs out his chest a little as a little smirk makes its way across his face. _Not foolish,_ the Inquisitor amends. _Arrogant._

"On humanoids, you aim for the solar plexus. The kidneys. Balls, if that's an option."

Then, without warning, the Second Sister's arm whips out, colliding with 19's windpipe.

"Or the throat."

The mandalorian stumbles backwards, clutching his throat as he tries and _fails_ to breathe. His eyes flare as, helpless and suffocating, he watches the Second Sister closes the distance between them and whispers into his ear.

The Inquisitor _snarls_ , frantically adjusting dials on his interface. He cannot hear what is being said, but he _can_ see the last of the colour drain from 19's face.

"Nod if you understand me."

He does. _Vehemently._

She smiles, patting him softly on the back as she makes her way back towards the centre of the ring. And, perhaps, _the point of this exercise_.

"Dirty?" Her smile widens, adding just a few too many teeth.

"Sure. Every fight is dirty. That, or you're doing it wrong."

-

-

-

-


	7. Chapter 7

-

-

-

As missions go, this stops just short of active sabotage.

-

-

-

_{'Spice' colloquially refers to a type of stimulant found throughout the galaxy. While it can be refined into a variety of useful and entirely legal substances, the term is mostly used in reference to its contraband form, in which it is sold as a fine crimson powder. Highly addictive in nature, spice has become so valuable that some amongst galaxy's criminal population have taken to using it as currency instead of Imperial credits' Historically, spice as it is known today was first found-.}_

It goes on, but the gist is pretty clear. It's space cocaine. Coloured in red.

_Wonderful._

_-_

_-_

_-_

The Second Sister narrows her eyes as she runs through the datapad and the Grand Inquisitor finds himself fighting off a grimace.

 _She understands_.

Because isn't that just it? The problem at its simplest because _she is not supposed to understand._ Why in the worlds would a girl barely into her teens – _isolated within an Imperial facility, no less_ – know the first thing about Coruscant's illegal drug trade?

He averts his eyes, masking it with a glance towards her new subordinates "Get to work. _Inquisitor_."

And so she does.

-

-

-

The Seventh Sister prowls more than she walks.

"Why are we even here." It's more of a snarl than a question; her voice dropping a few octaves towards the end, as if she's just _too_ angry to properly enunciate.

Still, a question – _even an improperly spoken one_ – requires an answer.

"The Grand Inquisitor must be present for an arrest of this magnitude," he says, mildly irritated at having just caught himself speaking in the third person. _Who does that?_

The Seventh Sister lifts her head. She is surprised by the answer – _or perhaps that she's been given any answer at all._

"And us?" she gestures to herself and the Fifth Brother, who offers no commentary of his own.

The Grand Inquisitor likes that about him.

"To witness your competition." He answers, glancing the skyscraper in front of them. "Now be silent. We've arrived."

As they approach the entrance, two security guards startle, scrambling to make room for them and embarrassing themselves in the process.

One, at least, seems to keep his wits about him. He calls the elevator and proceeds to tap a floor number upon its arrival.

"She's waiting for you on the thirty-second floor, Sir Inquisitor." He offers a slight bow as the doors close and the elevator lurches upwards.

-

-

-

The Second Sister looks up, smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

"Good. You're here. We were about to start without–" She stops, her smile dying upon her lips as she takes in his entourage. "You brought company."

Now it's his turn to smile.

"Where are my manners? Second Sister, may I introduce the Seventh Sister and the Fifth Brother." He ushers them forwards, watching as her eyes rake over them. Taking in every detail.

"You weren't part of the program." It isn't a question.

The Seventh Sister scoffs. "Some of us were meant for greater things." Her back is arched. Shoulders back. Everything about her posture screams challenge, as if her words left any room for doubt.

Hours ago, she'd been powerful. Second only to the Grand Inquisitor himself. An _enlightened_ Jedi, free from the chains of its tenants. A hunter. A predator. _Superior._

Now, she is threatened. _Off balance_. She needs to reassert herself. To reassert the world as she sees it.

_A mistake._

The Seventh has tipped her hand – _the girl's_ _eyes narrow and something clicks behind them like the spring-coil in a trap_ – and the Second has never been one squander an advantage.

She inclines her head with an almost dramatic flair. "I'm sure."

It is the most sarcastic bow the Grand Inquisitor has ever seen.

He intervenes before the Seventh Sister can respond – _likely with attempted murder. Emphasis on the 'attempted'._

"The Senator is inside?" There are two presences behind the door in front of them. Their connection to the force is faint at best, but raw panic has bled into the room.

_He's been warned._

"Yep." The Second Sister breaks from her impromptu standoff with the Seventh, her expression oozing smugness . "The Senator and his secretary are currently in the process of wiping their database of all incriminating evidence."

_Tampering with government files. Maximum sentence: Ten years imprisonment. If you can prove it. _

"And you are not currently in the process of _stopping_ him because…."

Her voices takes on an almost singsong quality. "Oh, I snuck into his office last night and cloned his hard drive. Well, _drives_. He wasn't exactly _amateur_ about this." A Stormtrooper – _Lieutenant Mako, if he remembers correctly_ – hands her a data-pad, which she promptly begins tapping on.

His comm chimes.

"Those are the best bits. Importing _major_ amounts of Spice. Slave trafficking. More than a bit of murder – not personally, I mean. But you follow the money and… well." there's no need to finish the thought, so she doesn't.

A Senator – _especially a corrupt senator_ – will often find there are times when law can be… _bent_ in their favour. A cursory skim through the first few lines of the dossier and The Grand Inquisitor already knows that this will not one of those times.

A shame. He could've killed her if she was wrong.

An electronic buzz parts him from such musings.

One of the Stormtroopers holds the offending contraption. His stance is awkward, suggesting inexperience with the device.

The device itself is shaped and sized in much the same way as an assault blaster, with a few key differences. The lack of heat sinks are the biggest giveaway. The Inquisitor has seen what even a faulty heat sink can do to a blaster.

_[The clone takes a moment to stare at the charred stump where his hand used to be. He shakes his head. "Frakking knew this gear was garbage." He mutters, before pulling out his side arm and gunning down another droid]_

Not a weapon then.

"Directional mic" the Second Sister offers, beating him to the conclusion by moments. "You point." She gestures and the Stormtrooper swings the device towards Senator Trevelyan's office. "And you listen."

"…ow long to we have?" a frantic voice springs from the device. _Trevelyan_.

Another voice – _human, female, most likely the secretary_ – answers.

"The tipoff said we had until sunset. Apparently they don't want to arrest a senator in broad daylight."

The Second Sister holds up a fist and Stormtroopers converge on the door in perfect harmony.

 _Two months_ he reminds himself. _She's had them for less than two months_.

"Damn." The sound of hands slamming against a desk rings out. "DAMN!" Trevelyan's voice has an air of desperation to it. Even with time _– time he doesn't actually have_ – he _knows_.

"It was supposed to be the ISB!" He cries, as if the universe might suddenly realise that it'd made a terrible mistake. "I have _friends_ there. They could make this all _go away._ "

 _Fascinating_. The Inquisitor looks forward to meeting these friends.

"But this? I wasn't expecting the _Inquisition_ of all–

The Second Sister's hand falls forward and two Stormtroopers breach the door with practiced ease, nearly knocking it off its hinges.

"That's the thing, Senator."

She strides inside with an almost casual gait to her step. 

"Nobody expects the Inquisition."

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have any idea how long I worked up to this joke? Too long. I lived in fear that someone else would make it first. That I'd lose it all. But here we are. Thousands of words in, all for a punch line.
> 
> Fear me.
> 
> But yea, that's the penultimate Grand Inquisitor interlude. What do you think of his inner voice for this chapter? I think I might've been channelling a bit too much Thrawn for him (Rebels is great. Thrawn is great, but it does make the Inquisitor look a bit like Thrawn lite). But then, I don't even know if he'll feature in this fic, so maybe it won't even matter.
> 
> ISB – Imperial Security Bureau. Basically the espionage sector of the Empire. Spies. Secret police. Very corrupt on the lower and middle ranks. They get warfed a lot on SW cannon because of all the other badass factions, but they have some scary people in there. Go read the new Trawn book if you want to see then done right.


	8. Chapter 8

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Ezra Bridger was old for an apprentice. Around _Her_ age, as a matter of fact.

The Inquisitor hadn't appreciated the reminder.

" _That_ was a mistake." Jarrus bites out, his voice crackling with barely contained grief.

The Inquisitor arches a brow. His strike had sent the boy careening off of the catwalk, to be sure, but it was _far_ from a killing blow. He would need to confirm the body later. He smiles at the thought. The boy's corpse would have a scar to match _Hers_. A premonition, if he had anything to say about it.

"Why? Because you have no one left to _die for you?_ "

_Because so many people have died, haven't they? Kanan Jarrus. Why not give in and make it a quick end? The fun part's over anyway._

The Jedi stares him down and, where once there was nothing but fear and uncertainty, there is _steel_ in him now.

"Because I have nothing left to fear."

 _We'll see._ The Inquisitor grins, baring his teeth.

And yet–

–The Jedi pushes his advantage, duel sabres arcing through the air as he rains down a flurry of blows.

The Inquisitor gives ground, more and more with each passing second – _he is losing. How can he be losing to this jumped up Padawan? –,_ forced back with every blow. For a moment the Jedi slinks backwards, but the space only works to his advantage as he fires the blaster build into the boy's lightsabre.

The Inquisitor shifts his lightsabre from crescent to disc, igniting its second blade. Activating its spin function in the same motion, his sabre rotates with frightening speed, cutting through the air as it catches the first shot. Then, the second, third and fourth. Jarrus's fifth shot is point blank, followed by a sabre strike. Both miss. Yet, in dodging, he has conceded the last of the catwalk, retreating into the control hub.

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_No._

His Sabre is broken – _destroyed by_ _poor design_ _and_ _quick thinking_ – and he is hanging from a ledge, staring up a Jedi of his own creation – _I made this. Forged my own killer in grief and blood._

Jarrus stares down at him. His sabres are at the ready, but he knows this battle is over. He won't kill him. Not if he doesn't have to.

 _H_ _e won't need to. Tarkin and Vader will be first in line for that particular pleasure_.

Only one choice remains, the last choice he will ever get to make.

By whose hand?

_The child stares into his eyes, desperately willing her blade just an edge deeper. A fraction closer. Every fibre of her being screams for his death and there is nothing – **nothing** – he can do to stop her. The blade is torn away, but the knife remains all the same. The threat of death kissing his neck._

Really. The choice is obvious.

"You have no idea what you've unleashed here today." The words are a courtesy, more than anything else, but the Jedi deserves _some inkling_ , at least. Lothal is an insignificant backwater planet that he regrets ever setting foot on. But in this, final moment, the Inquisitor spares it a moment's pity. They don't deserve what comes next. _Nobody does._

"There are some things _far more frightening then death_."

Then, he lets go, and the ground rushes up to meet him.

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End file.
